


Hex Before Sex

by Captainraychill, eilonwy, UnseenLibrarian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-Written, Co-workers, F/M, Fluff, HP: EWE, Humor, Magic, Post-Hogwarts, Romantic Comedy, Round Robin, Smut, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainraychill/pseuds/Captainraychill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilonwy/pseuds/eilonwy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnseenLibrarian/pseuds/UnseenLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Devious? Moi?" The smile deepened and became faintly wolfish. "I meant what I said yesterday, Granger. I've loads of project ideas to discuss with you. But why work in a stuffy office when we can be ever so much more..." He paused, a sly and undeniably lusty glint in his eye. "... <i>comfortable</i> right here?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hex Before Sex

**Author's Note:**

> This fic grew out of a light-hearted discussion a group of us were having about the recent Scottish vote for independence. We were wondering how the split would affect the wizarding world, particularly in terms of its governance. Well of course, Hermione had to be involved in the discussion, and where Hermione goes, Draco always turns up sooner or later. Finally, after several of us had them shagging on the new Minister for Magic's desk, we decided to actually write the story, round-robin style, and see just what else our favorite couple would do. Eilonwy, Captainraychill, and UnseenLibrarian jumped headfirst into the writing pool and here is the result. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Note: The story will be posted under the nom de plume CaptainEilonwyUnseen at H&V and ff.net

The whole affair would have been so much more dignified if McGonagall hadn’t died in that freak Transfiguration accident last spring.

It also would have been more dignified, albeit a bit pompous, if Ernie Macmillan hadn't finally cracked and run away with the Cirque du Magique last summer.

That only left _him_.

 _He_ was not dignified. _He_ was a disgusting cad. Have you seen the way he eats oysters? Has seafood ever been treated with such wanton and shameful disrespect? Absolutely not.

But Cormac McLaggen was the only "Mc" or "Mac" left to lead the new Independent Scottish Ministry of Magic after Scotland declared independence from Great Britain. It's tragic – how some mischievous, magical British clerk secretly wrote a tricky clause into the Official Document of Separation. Now, only a magical individual who had graduated from Hogwarts and whose born surname began with "Mc" or "Mac" could lead the Independent Scottish Ministry of Magic, more commonly called the ISMM.

As in sexism.

"Granger," Minister McLaggen said with a leer. He licked his lips so wet that they dripped. "You're out of dress code, love."

Hermione Granger, the Assistant Minister of Magic of the ISMM, wore a tailored gray suit and a green silk shell. Minister McLaggen wore a kilt, boots, socks, and a suggestive smile. 

"Don't be ridiculous," she said scornfully.

"Granger, you know that all employees of the Independent Scottish Ministry of Magic are required to wear a kilt, boots, socks, and nothing else. Why can't I see your tits? Where is your Scottish pride? Have you finished that TPS report? Are you wearing knickers?"

Hermione sighed. What had she been thinking?

It wasn’t that she was so terribly ambitious. No, scratch that. In truth, she had hankered for the top job, spending countless hours studying that damned clause for a possible loophole – _any_ Scots blood in the family should count, surely!– and just in case, combing through her family tree for at least one relative, never mind how distant, whose surname began with a Mac or Mc. Grinning smugly, McLaggen had informed her that no, a third cousin’s remarriage to a McDougal following a divorce most emphatically did NOT count. Besides, he’d added with irritating finality, there _was_ no loophole in any case.

It all came down to blood. Didn’t it always? She sighed again and poked a hole in her blotter with the sharp tip of her quill. She really had wanted that job, so badly in fact that she could practically taste it, and instead, had been rewarded with the position of second in command. So now, she had that slimy git McLaggen lording it over her AND making leering, smarmy comments at every possible opportunity. 

Well, she would NOT be wearing a kilt, thanks very much. She wasn’t over-fond of her knees, for starters. Too bony. And plaid just didn’t suit her. Besides, she had no clan affiliation, so the whole thing would be a fraud, engineered to satisfy the wanton desires of her boss, whose fascination with her underwear never seemed to wane. (He seemed disappointed anew, every time he inquired after the state of her knickers, that she never responded in kind. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he’d said once, winking lasciviously. Hermione smiled every time she recalled how crushed he had seemed at her complete indifference, both to him and to what might or might not be beneath his kilt.)

So much work to do, getting the fledgling Ministry off the ground! Naturally, ninety-nine percent of it had wound up on her desk, McLaggen strutting about like a peacock in that bloody kilt of his, obviously convinced that his main purpose was to put a pretty face on the job of Minister. Rock-star Minister, Assistant Minister working her bleeding arse off behind the scenes and making him look even better and sexier than he already did. 

“What’s the matter, Granger?” A deep, amused voice jarred her out of her disgruntled reverie. “Don’t tell me I’ve actually caught the Assistant Minister of Magic wool-gathering. Tsk. Falling down on the job already, and it’s only been a week.”

Merlin's beard. Not the other one. Hermione braced herself before looking up at the other peacock of the ISMM. 

Draco Malfoy.

Oh no, he wasn't here because he was Scottish. The closest Malfoy could come to claiming he had highlander blood was when he drank a fifth of Swott Malt Whisky, turning his blood effectively into Scotch.

He also wasn't here because he'd slept with the new Scottish Minister. This was a bit surprising, because in Hermione's opinion that's how everyone here (with the exception of herself) had gotten their positions. They certainly weren't here because of talent, she sniffed. However, Draco Malfoy absolutely loathed Cormac McLaggen and had since their Hogwarts days. There was no chance that he would be caught fiddling around under McLaggen's kilt. No, Draco Malfoy was here at the ISMM because he was the official liaison with the British Ministry of Magic. How he'd acquired _that_ position was anybody's guess, but Hermione wouldn't put much past him. He and Minister Astoria Greengrass (a cute brunette _and_ first female Minister of Magic, no less, not that Hermione was bitter or anything) had been an item at one time, she remembered.

So, Malfoy had a permanent home at the new Scottish Ministry of Magic. He never seemed to actually liaise, though. Most of his time here at the ISMM seemed to revolve around making idle chit-chat with the female staff members, drinking brandy or whisky for lunch, and generally being a thorn in Hermione's side.

He was currently resting his thorny bum on the edge of her desk, squashing some of her many rolls of parchment. She tugged at them, trying to get him to move. He remained immobile. 

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked, gritting her teeth. "Unlike some people around here, I happen to be a very *tug* busy *tug* woman!" 

The scroll she'd been pulling on gave way with a loud ripping noise, and it tore apart like the rolls of toilet paper that Crookshanks couldn't seem to leave alone in her bathroom at home. 

"Merlin's bloody beard!" she fumed.

"Temper, Granger, temper!" Malfoy chided her, still not budging an inch. "I know Cornhole McLaggen's got you all riled up, but do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?"

Hermione glared. She cast a Reparo on the scroll and a Stinging Hex on Malfoy's bottom for good measure. He leapt off the desk with a satisfying yelp.

"No I do not, Malfoy," she said with a voice filled with high fructose corn syrup-y sweetness. "As you know perfectly well, I do not currently have a boyfriend."

Malfoy stopped rubbing his sore behind and leaned over her desk, close to her ear. "Well then, Granger, have I got a proposition for you."

Hermione went very still and regarded Malfoy with narrowed eyes. “Oh yes?” she asked warily. “And what might that be? It had better not involve wearing a kilt.”

Draco stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head, and then he began to laugh. “Wearing a... What the hell are you on about, Granger? Oh, sorry,” he added, as she frowned at him. “ _Madam Assistant Minister_.” Shaking his head in amusement, he continued. “No. No kilts. You haven’t got the legs for it.” Of course, she had, and quite lovely ones, too, he’d noticed, but it wouldn’t do to tell her that. At least not until she’d agreed to what he had in mind.

“The British Ministry is considering eliminating my job. As it happens, the Minister herself is behind it. Can’t reveal my sources, but trust me, it’s a fact.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing into luxuriant chestnut hair that currently sported a quill she’d stuck there that morning and forgotten about.

“Come now, you can’t be all that surprised. Greengrass has had it in for me ever since I broke our engagement. She wants my head on a platter, and she’s determined to get it one way or another, the vindictive little bitch. She’s accused me of frittering away my time doing non-essential things.”

“Oh, you mean like hanging about with anything in a skirt instead of doing any actual work, and coming back from lunch every day thoroughly pissed?” Hermione asked pointedly, an eyebrow raised. “Maybe Greengrass is right.”

Draco laughed uneasily. “Oh, please. Everybody has a drink or two at lunch. It’s expected. And as for the other, well... can I help it if everyone is so friendly? Can’t be rude, now can I? It would hurt their feelings. Anyway, fortunately for me, nobody else has supported this daft vendetta of hers until now, and even at this point, they’ve only acquiesced under one condition: that it can be proven without doubt that my work as a liaison is redundant and essentially irrelevant. To save my job, I must be seen to be working very closely with you. Morning, noon, and night, if need be. Weekends, too.”

Oh yes, he thought cannily, suppressing the smile that nudged at the corners of his mouth. Especially weekends. 

“Look, you know my position is neither redundant nor irrelevant. I’ve loads of creative project ideas to bring our two Ministries in line with each other. I’m ready to start right now.” He flashed her a charmingly toothy smile that was, Hermione thought, faintly crocodilian. “So what do you say, Granger? Are we on? Ready to bring our two governments into the twenty-first century? You won't be sorry, I promise.”

“Hmmph,” she huffed, folding her arms and eyeing him with undisguised scepticism. “This had better be good, Malfoy, because–” She stopped short and glared at him. “What do you mean, I haven’t got the legs for it?”

“You didn’t actually believe I meant that load of tosh, did you?” The toothy smile grew wider and Draco winked. “You’ve got gorgeous legs, Granger. Ever consider wearing a kilt?”

The paperweight narrowly missed the back of his head, leaving a dent in the door as it shut swiftly behind him.

That night, Hermione went home and tried on every skirt she owned while staring critically at her knees in the mirror. Then she threw her charmed magical canaries at a tattered photograph of McLaggen for a while, masturbated furiously in the bath, and went to bed.

In all that time she refused to think about Malfoy. Nope. Not one moment. Not even a little bit.

 

 

*

 

 

The next morning

 

 

Hermione's morning had not gone well.

For one thing, Crookshanks had shredded so much toilet tissue that her loo resembled a snow scene on a Christmas card, complete with festive tampons.

For another thing, she'd burned her tongue with coffee.

And for yet another, she'd almost choked on a sausage when an owl had pecked on her kitchen window. It wasn't an ISMM owl. It didn't have a plaid ribbon tied around its middle, McLaggen's version of an owl kilt. Stupid wanker. She fed the bird a bit of regurgitated sausage before unrolling the parchment around its left leg.

_Granger,_

_Hope you're having a good morning. I know I am. I'm enjoying a hearty breakfast in bed –my hot, naked body swathed in silk. Oh, you're doing the same? What a lovely image, despite your bony knees. But enough small talk._

_I reiterate... In order to save my job, I must be seen to be working with you very closely at all times. So let us begin. See you in five seconds._

_With affection,  
Draco Malfoy_

"See me in five seconds? What –"

Hermione felt a tingle in her fingertips as the words _very closely at all times_ glowed white.

"NO!"

It was too late. 

In a literal blink of the eye, Hermione was transported from her cozy kitchen to an enormous, circular bedroom. She'd lived in a castle long enough to know a tower room. The stone walls and floors were decorated with richly patterned rugs and tapestries. Stained glass nymphs danced in tall, narrow windows. And a massive bed hung from the ceiling _by chains._

Bloody hell.

Draco Malfoy reclined, naked, on the bed. His bits were barely concealed by luxurious, green silk and a breakfast tray. The rest of his pale, perfect body was on glorious display. Broad chest, strong thighs, bony knees. He smiled, and Hermione felt dizzy. The tingle in her fingertips spread up her arms and down her spine. 

"Ready to get to work, Granger?"

She'd walked three steps forward before she realized she was being pulled by magic. By his hex. The compulsion was more powerful than those damned chains suspending the bed. But by then, she couldn't stop moving. Four steps. Five steps. Six–seven–eight–nine–ten– a running leap.

"You devious snake!" she screamed in midair.

She could have wished for a more dignified landing. But at least the bed was soft. Luxurious, in fact. However, luxury was the last thing on her mind, sprawled as she now was on her stomach, arms and legs flung out to brace herself. A stretch of smooth, chiseled, very bare hip met her immediate gaze. Her eyes slid over his taut belly, with its trail of fine, pale hair dusting his navel, up the nicely toned chest and finally connected with his grey eyes. Malfoy leaned over on one elbow and smiled serenely down at her.

“Devious? Moi?” The smile deepened and became faintly wolfish. “I meant what I said yesterday, Granger. I’ve loads of project ideas to discuss with you. But why work in a stuffy office when we can be ever so much more…” He paused, a sly and undeniably lusty glint in his eye. “… _comfortable_ right here?”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but he reached down and laid a finger softly on her lips, effectively shutting them. 

“It’s a known fact that people are far more productive when they’re in a relaxed environment.” His eyes traveled down the length of her body and he smiled approvingly. She hadn’t had time to get dressed and was still clad in her skimpiest and most diaphanous nightie (the coffee stain over her right boob still damp), and a pair of lacy, little knickers. “I see you’ve come dressed to be very productive indeed.” 

This was too much. Her momentary shock and the considerable distraction of such close proximity to Malfoy’s admittedly gorgeous nakedness were finally under control, and now Hermione was livid once again. She sat very straight, pulling the silk sheet up to her chest and glowering at him.

“You don’t need to worry about Astoria Greengrass getting you sacked! _I’ll_ take care of that all by myself! This is… this is…” she sputtered, completely incensed at the nerve of the man, not to mention the positive slew of legal infractions he’d just committed by pulling such an outrageous stunt. “It’s sexual harassment! And kidnapping! And probably a hundred other things as well! What the bloody hell were you playing at, abducting me in my pyjamas?! And if you imagine,” she added, her eyes narrowing and her voice turning steely, “that I will willingly sit here in the nearly altogether and play footsie with you just so that you can continue swanning about the office NOT doing your job, you are mistaken, Draco Malfoy!”

The man in question merely smiled once again with infuriating nonchalance. Her best efforts at intimidation had fallen woefully flat, apparently. Gritting her teeth, Hermione glared at him furiously, folding her arms. 

Malfoy’s gaze immediately glued itself to her chest, where her breasts were now pushed up and nearly falling out of her nightie. 

“Oh, no,” he said softly, and the tip of his tongue darted out to flick at his lips. “That’s not at all what I had in mind, Hermione Granger. I fully intend that we should work together. But I really do have a proposition for you. One I think you might like very much indeed. Shall I tell you what it is?”

Hermione fought with herself. On the one hand, she was still infuriated with Malfoy for his underhanded, Slytherin tactics to apparently drag her bodily into his bed. On the other hand, there were four fingers and a thumb. But in spite of herself, she was extremely curious and really wanted to find out what his proposition was. Damn her huge, inquisitive brain! 

She fumed silently as she had an internal debate. In the silence, Malfoy decided to sit up. His chest and stomach muscles shifted as he adjusted himself on the bed. Ohhh, and now the hot bastard had the nerve to _stretch?_ Damn his sexy abs and his tantalizingly tawny treasure trail! 

The (very thin) sheet and the (quite precariously balanced) breakfast tray shifted downwards. Realizing she was going to give in after all and ask what scheme he had up his (current extreme lack of) sleeve, Hermione sighed. As she did so, she saw Malfoy's eyebrows rise, his tongue sweep once more across his lips, and hey now, didn't that breakfast tray just tilt a bit more? Surely the cup and saucer slid a little?

Her irritation with herself momentarily forgotten in favor of scientific inquiry, she experimentally sighed again, and upped the ante by sitting up even straighter and squeezing her arms a little more tightly under her boobs. These actions had the satisfying effect of causing Malfoy's tray to definitely cant over to one side, the dishes on it to slide with a clatter to its edge, and the fork that Malfoy had still been holding absent-mindedly in one fist to bend at a seventy degree angle. Hermione smirked.

"Do tell, Malfoy. What's on your mind?" she asked, thrusting out her chest as she reached up to pull her hair back away from her face. Her tits obligingly bobbled under the filmy, clingy nightie. (To be honest, she hadn't been sure why she'd worn it last night, as she usually went for sensible flannel pyjamas in this cold, damp Scottish climate, but after the toe-numbing series of orgasms she'd had in her bath, boring old woolen nightclothes just hadn't appealed.) Watching Malfoy's face now, however, she was glad she'd chosen slinky and sexy over staid and sturdy.

There was a resounding _CRASH_ of china as Malfoy's now fully grown morning wood levered the breakfast tray over the side of the bed with a hearty heave ho. The bent fork joined its friends on the floor as he pounced, grabbing Hermione's shoulders and swinging her down so she lay beneath him. She gave out a squeak of protest which he quickly silenced with a deep, thorough kiss. She grabbed his hair in both hands with a moan as he kissed his way over her chin, down her throat, past her collarbones. He tugged down her negligee as he went, and when he reached her breasts, he gave a triumphant growl and took one perky nipple into his mouth.

"Oh-hhh! But, Malfoy," Hermione gasped, trying not-very-hard-at-all to push him away. The attempt, not surprisingly, utterly failed. "Aren't we supposed to be working on your proposition? You still haven't told me what it is, yet."

He let her nipple go with an audible _POP_ and moved to her other breast. He looked up at her through his shaggy fringe, his hips settling between her legs. "Salazar's sac, Granger, does your mind ever switch off?" His mouth hovered teasingly over the neglected boob, and his heated breath on her skin sent a shiver through her body. "Fine! My first proposal is this: that you and I work very hard at satisfying each other's wildest sexual fantasies. It will be exhausting work, as there will be a tremendous amount of research and study involved. I predict we'll be at it for some time, but I guarantee we'll be satisfied with the results." His hips gave a twitch and he licked her nipple with just the very tip of his talented tongue. His eyes never left her face. "Well, Granger? What do you say?”

Hermione was silent for so long that Draco began to worry. Perhaps he'd come on too strong.

 _No such thing._

She wanted him. He knew it. And he wanted her with an intensity that stunned him. Ever since he'd arrived in Scotland, she'd driven him mad with her sharp glares, biting wit, and curvy figure. She grew breathless and flushed, just like he did, whenever they argued, which was often. He'd also noticed a subtler kind of attention from her. Sidelong glances. How she touched her hair when he was near. That her sexy, crossed legs angled toward him during meetings like a compass pointing north. He was also enthralled by what she _said_ in the meetings, which was utter genius. Compared to her, McLaggen had the intellect of half a worm. The stupid half. 

She'd also worn Slytherin colors the last three days without even realizing it (Draco suspected Subconscious Transfiguration) and he was the only Slytherin currently in working at the ISMM.

So why weren't they kissing?

Merlin, he'd just shoved several pounds of wood, china, silver, crystal, and scrambled eggs off his bed with just the power of his rock-hard erection. And bent a fork with his bare hand. Those feats were impressive. Why weren't they Shagging with a capital _S_ and lots of dirty _g_ 's? 

He would have burned with desire for her even if she'd appeared in his bedroom wearing baggy flannels with atrocious hair. Instead, she'd appeared in the loveliest, most tempting, tiny lingerie. Palest pink chiffon so sheer he could see her beautiful curves through it. Far from atrocious, her hair flowed over her shoulders in wild, soft curls. And now it spread over his pillow. He was over her, pressing her body into his bed in an intimate slide of silk and skin and heat. He'd never been so turned on.

But she was still silent.

"What do you say, Granger?" he repeated, careful to hide his doubts.

Hermione blinked and said, "Release me from this compulsion spell."

She didn't want him. Draco almost groaned in frustration. He stroked his thumb along the side of her neck. How could he bring himself to let her go?

"Lift the hex _now_ ," she snapped.

With a sigh, he obeyed. Hermione shivered as the magic rose off her skin. She shivered again as he pulled her negligee up over her breasts and slid its frilly straps onto her white shoulders. It was a sin to hide such gorgeous tits. It went against every manly, aesthetic, and animalistic impulse he possessed. 

"Thank you," she said. "This is important."

"What is?"

"That I consider your first proposal under no influence but my own free will."

_Consider his first proposal..._

Arousal flared low in Draco's belly. He smiled, wolfish again. "So you're still considering if you and I should work very hard at satisfying each other's wildest sexual fantasies?"

"I am."

"Brilliant." 

"You need to flip us. I think better on top."

Draco moaned at the thought.

"Do it," she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Holding Hermione close, Draco rolled them over in a tangle of silk, until she was over him. The bed swayed. The chains that suspended it creaked.

"By the way, nice bed, pervert," she said with a smirk.

"Thanks. It's the best way to protect the rugs."

"And to be a bit kinky."

"That, too. I find that a touch of- " 

Draco's sentence ended on a gasp as Hermione moved above him, her legs spreading wide as she straddled him and snuggled down against his cock. The sheet wasn't between them anymore. Nothing divided the hot touch of skin on skin but the most insubstantial whisper of lace. By reflex, he raised his hips, pressing up against her wet knickers. Fighting for control, he grabbed her waist and bit his bottom lip. When he raised up again, she met him with a slow grind that sent a shudder of breathtaking pleasure through him.

"Hermione.”

"Hmm?" 

She thrust again and again, slow and deliberate. Draco cupped her arse, to guide her. Not that the Assistant Minister of the ISMM (as in eroticism) needed any guidance. 

"Are you still considering my proposal?" 

"I am." She arched her back, her hard nipples showing through her negligee. She pinched them, and Draco made an embarrassing, choking sound. Hermione merely smiled and continued. "There are so many factors to consider. I'll need to make ROI projections, file a TPS report."

"Don't you dare," Draco growled, slipping his fingers under the elastic of her knickers. Her skin was so incredibly soft. He felt like he was floating, inches from heaven.

"Don't _you_ dare, Draco Malfoy. That's not what I had in mind."

"You finally have something in mind?" he teased, squeezing her arse.

"I do." She reached back and took his hands by the wrists. He submitted without question, preoccupied with staring at her breasts and breathing in her scent. Vanilla, sugar, coffee and... sausage? She placed his hands over his head, curling them into loose fists around the nearest chain. 

"I plan to follow your example, Malfoy," she murmured as she leaned close. Her breath tickled his ear, and he closed his eyes to savor the blissful sensation.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Hex before sex."

She murmured an incantation he'd didn't recognize. Did she even have her wand? She was amazing. Wandless magic was so bloody... What the hell?

Draco felt a strange, cool liquid oozing around his fingers. He looked up to see the chains hardening again, forming manacles that looked like an intricate series of connected rings and bracelets around his hands. He tugged hard, but the binding was strong. No escape. Dark desire surged through him.

"This is how one of my fantasies begins," Hermione said. "Let me show you how it continues."

Draco watched, mesmerized, as her negligee shimmered from palest pink to palest green trimmed with silver lace. She didn't seem to notice the change as she slowly untied the satin ribbons that held it together.

Yes! She _did_ want him. And clearly she had done for some time, he reasoned, or such a carefully considered fantasy wouldn’t be on the verge of unfolding. Elation bordering on euphoria coursed through him now, competing with desire that was now simmering on a nearly unbearable slow burn. 

By now, the nightie had slipped nearly all the way down, pooling around her waist. Leaning in, she caught his earlobe between her teeth, her warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of his neck as she laughed softly in his ear.

Oh gods! _Torture._ Those magnificent breasts were now suspended right above him like ripened fruit waiting to be plucked and savored. He could feel them brushing against his chest as she came closer, and yet he was powerless to do anything about it.

“How does it feel, Malfoy?” Her voice was husky, tremulous. “Just for once, how does it feel not to be in control? I’m told it’s a truly liberating experience, once you accept the fact.”

“You’ve wanted this for quite some time, haven’t you,” he murmured, his mouth dry as dust and his heart hammering in his throat.

“I won’t lie.” Smiling lazily, she sat up quite straight now, her breasts bouncing as she repositioned herself snugly over his swollen, aching cock. Somewhere along the way, she’d Vanished her knickers, and now there was nothing at all between them except the slick heat of their bodies. “I’ve wanted _you_ for ages. I really must thank you for forcing the issue in such a…” She paused, and the smile turned sly. “… _creative_ manner. I’m not sure I’d ever have had the nerve. I certainly never imagined _this_ scenario.”

“Tell you what.” Draco tried to coax his voice into a smooth, sinuously seductive tone. Embarrassingly, it came out ragged and desperate-sounding. “Vanish these chains and –”

“And what? You still haven’t answered my question.” And now her voice turned steely and she fixed him with a gaze that didn’t permit further evasion. “How does it feel?”

“Bloody awful,” he whispered hoarsely. “And bloody marvelous too, you evil girl. You knew I’d love it, didn’t you.”

“In my fantasies, you always do.” She lowered her head, nuzzling his neck with a string of kisses. 

Draco sighed with pleasure and let his body go limp. Might as well lie back and enjoy whatever she had in mind, the little vixen; obviously, she had no intention of releasing him anytime soon.

And where in the name of all the gods had she learnt what she was doing right now? That mouth of hers was apparently multi-talented; just now, it was propelling him into a state of near- spontaneous combustion with just a few well-placed flicks and nibbles. And...

“What...?” he groaned, suddenly aware of a wholly new sensation in his groin. “Bloody hell, Granger, what _is_ that?”

From her station between his legs, Hermione looked up, a devilish glint in her eyes. “You like it?”

He groaned again. The intensity of his arousal was becoming almost excruciating. 

Apparently, that was answer enough for her. The smile she gave him was oh, so wicked. Malfoy-esque, even, he realized with a shiver of recognition and not a little admiration.

“Just a little something I read about once.”

“You got that from a _book..._ ” Even in the throes of this most delicious agony, Draco couldn’t help a tiny snort of laughter as he pictured her researching the best moves in bed with the same methodical diligence she applied to everything she did. “Why am I not surprised?” 

She grinned. “Always wanted to try it out on... somebody.” Then she ducked her head and resumed her ministrations.

 _Bugger bugger bugger..._ Tiny, shivery, electric sparks igniting along every nerve ending had finally coalesced to form a growing inferno in his balls that threatened to blow at any moment. And his cock was still only in her mouth, not where he ultimately wanted it to be. If a blow job from her could do this to him, the mind boggled at the prospect of what gloriously full-on fucking would be like. Small beads of sweat had flowered on his forehead, dampening his hair, and he gritted his teeth, praying for release.

Just then, Hermione raised her head and smiled sweetly.

“Oh my gosh! Just look at the time! Whatever will people think, me going missing like this, with no explanation!” She shook her head, clucking her tongue and sighing. “Terribly irresponsible of me, lounging about naked in this big, decadent bed of yours when there are scads of really important things needing my attention.”

“Bloody hell, Granger, _I_ need your attention!” Draco yelled, pulling at his shackles to no avail and then falling back on the pillows, exhausted, his purpling cock still standing painfully at attention, a thin strand of cum seeping from its head. “What the fuck are you planning to do, you infernal tease? Leave me here like this?”

By this time, Hermione was standing near the foot of the bed, dressed once again in her nightie. She grinned. “Oh, I’ll be back. Later.” And then, she vanished.

Dazed, Draco found himself recalling a disturbing advert he’d seen once on Muggle telly, for an erectile-dysfunction product. “If you experience an erection lasting for more than four hours...” the voiceover had begun ominously, going on to suggest that said sufferer should get himself to a hospital for immediate treatment. At the time, he’d laughed at the absurdity of such a scenario. What poor, brainless fuck would get himself saddled with the Erection That Wouldn’t Die? He doubted such a thing was physically possible, for starters. But if it was, and that stuff was the best that Muggle healing could offer for a man who couldn’t get it up, well, he’d take his chances _au naturel_.

 

 

*

 

 

Lunchtime

 

 

The second hand on the bedside clock had stubbornly refused to move any faster, and the hours had dragged. The Hard-On From Hell had finally abated, but the raging case of blue balls that had taken its place was even worse in some ways. He’d already run out of curses to lay on Granger’s head and was starting on a recap of the most potent ones when there was a sudden _POP_.

Hermione stood there, impeccably dressed in a smartly tailored, charcoal-grey blazer, matching pencil skirt, and a teal blouse cut fetchingly low, a simple choker of silver and jade around her neck.

“Well, well, Malfoy.” She smiled serenely. “Have you had a pleasant morning? Well rested, are we?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “I’ve come to discuss your second proposition.”

“And to undo the spell, I presume?” he growled. 

She laughed, a musical sound. “Oh yes. Silly me, I’d quite forgotten about that. Let’s get down to business first, shall we?” She moved closer to the bed but remained just out of reach. “What _is_ your second proposition?”

Draco opened his mouth, not sure precisely of what was going to come out, as he hadn’t actually come up with Proposition Number Two yet. But before he had a chance to say anything, she went on.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I propose something instead? I’ve a two-fold idea: first, that we do indeed work far more closely together, not just in name but in fact. I expect us to be genuinely productive, not just arse about with lots of long lunches and flirting, or the odd shag on my desk or yours. Not that such activities couldn’t be a part of the bargain as well, but there has to be something tangible to show for all the _many_ hours we’ll be spending together. Deal?”

This was sounding eminently do-able. And suddenly, the case of blue balls wasn’t quite as painful as it had been a few minutes earlier. Draco nodded avidly. “What else?”

Hermione moved a little closer, enough that now he could smell the warm, spicy scent she was wearing. Reaching out, she lightly traced a pattern on his upper arm with the tip of one finger. “You take me out on a proper date. Lots of them, actually. I won’t be your piece on the side. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he allowed, though in truth, no concession was needed on that score. Because Assistant Minister Granger was not a woman with whom to trifle. Apparently, she was also not one to casually abduct, even with the best of intentions. At least not without the expectation that she’d retaliate with something even more magically impressive. He had finally met his match, Draco had to admit, and somehow, the knowledge he’d always expected would turn him skittish about getting genuinely involved was in fact an exhilarating and welcome surprise. 

“All right, then.” Hermione nodded briskly and began unbuttoning her blazer. Tossing it casually on the back of a chair, she pulled the silk blouse over her head and unhooked her bra. There they were, those gorgeous breasts he’d so longed to kiss and fondle hours earlier. The bra was followed swiftly by her skirt. Only a satin slip remained. 

Draco let out a small groan, half pain and half longing. The erection was back, full force. Then the satin slip dropped to the floor. There were no knickers, merely thigh-high stockings and a lacy garter belt.

“As you can see,” Hermione told him softly, her words a sinful whisper in his hair as she climbed onto the bed and straddled him, “I’ve come dressed for optimum productivity.”

Suddenly, the spell was lifted (again, wandlessly and completely without his knowledge. Was there anything this remarkable girl couldn’t do?) and Draco flexed his arms and fingers, rolling his stiff neck and shoulders. And then he set about making up for a lot of lost time. His industry and diligence were highly commendable, the Assistant Minister of the ISMM managed to inform him between moans and gasps of pleasure.

 

Epilogue

 

Several days later

 

In his office, Minister McLaggen was busy reassuring Minister Greengrass by Floo that Draco Malfoy was surely on borrowed time, if he knew Hermione Granger at all. The call concluded, he sat back in his leather desk chair and smiled. The kilt he planned to surprise her with waited, wrapped in red tissue paper and a plaid ribbon, on his desk. Undoubtedly, it would prove as irresistible to her, in the end, as he knew he really was. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he murmured, running an idle finger over the ribbon.

He really must have a word with her about all those three-hour lunches, though.

 

 

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to our lovely beta, mister_otter!
> 
> "The lady doth protest too much, methinks" is from William Shakespeare's "Hamlet" (1602).


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